Time is Relative

Each time I glance at the clock, I can tell you where I was and what I was doing at this time one year ago today.

It's 5:50 pm.

At 5:50 pm, December 9th, 2004,

I was praying.

I prayed for my little girl, that God would grant us the miracle of good news after tomorrow mornings operation. I prayed for the blessing of just a little more time with my baby, Boots. I prayed that He would not call her home just yet.......Not now....Not when I needed her here with me so badly.

I prayed with every ounce of faith I had.

My heart was breaking with the pain of knowing that sometimes prayers seem to go unanswered, and sometimes God's Will is not what we pray it to be.

After awhile, I would get into my car, and drive to the vet clinic.

Bootsie was always sharp as a tack, no pulling any wool over those beautiful big brown eyes of hers. She got wise to the med-laced Gerbers baby food being fed to her by the vets at the clinic, and soon was turning her head slowly away from each spoonful. Boots discouraged any further attempts at this trickery by way of a good nip to the hands of the trickster. That was my baby. While others may have frowned upon her as being ill-behaved, I reveled in the joy of knowing that I had one "take-no-crap" little girl. I loved Bootsie's iron-willed determination, even when it hurt.

I would drive to the clinic twice a day to give Boots her meds. I didn't try to trick her into it.....I did it the way we always had: sandwiched inside a tiny pocket of a folded over Velveeta slice. The techs watched as I proffered the meds and Bootsie willingly swallowed it up, quick as a wink.

It was while Bootsie was at the clinic this last time that I noticed something. One of the vets had mentioned to me at an appointment earlier that year that Bootsie had cataracts in her eyes. He said,

"I bet you've seen her walk into furniture, things like that."

I had not. Bootsie had never exhibited any such difficulty navigating around the house or back yard.

I noticed, though, when I walked into the back room of the clinic where all the patients are resting, that maybe the vet was right. Soon as I opened the door, my eyes would immediately go to Bootsie's compartment. If she were awake, I would say,

"Hi BabyGirl! Hi Bootsiebear! I love you precious one~...."

Bootsie's eyes would widen, her ears would perk up at my voice. She would glance over in my direction with a look of such expectant hope....I saw that she was trying to focus on who she hoped was addressing her.....I had to move several feet closer before she could see that it was, indeed, me. You coulds see the recognition flash brilliantly in her eyes and her whole body would wag with joy and happiness.

On the evening of December the 9th, 2004, I drove to the vet clinic. not sure if I should stay overnight there, or if I should go home. I feared that if I stayed, Bootsie might expend too much energy, energy that I wanted her to reserve for the next mornings surgery and the subsequent post-surgical recovery. My decision to go home would later be one I would regret, and I swim in this regret even now, one year to the day.

Bootsie had not wanted to eat those last couple of days.

But she ate for me, and on this night last year, I held Bootsie upright in my arms in a chair that the techs provided for me back with the patients. I had a big bowl of Bootsie's canned food, and she let me handfeed it to her. She hungrily ate up every last bit of her food, and this made her "mama" so proud......

I wish I had stayed there and never left her side that night. Bootsie would never have left my side. I feel like I failed her. I am so sorry, Bootsie. I was so stupid. I should have stayed. I don't think I really believed it was to be my last chance to spend a night with you. Had I known, I would have stayedBootsie! I would never, ever have left you!

I know,  I know.....you can't go back and re-write the past, and beating yourself up isn't gonna help anything, and Bootsie wouldn't want you to think about those things....

But you can't help it. When something hurts, it hurts.

 

I miss you, Bootsie. I'd give anything I have to have you back with me.